Post by Sinister on Oct 16, 2006 13:16:41 GMT -5
It had been another long day in the hotel room and the latest guards on shift were bored. They watched the mutie kid all the same but that didn't stop them from being spirit crushingly bored. There was only so much cable you could watch and only so much soda you could drink. It wasn't like the kid could go anywhere.
But they watched him anyway.
"You fancy a coffee?" Nicholas asked from his place by the door.
Rod thought about it a moment, the evening was young, but the long day sapped the will and left one tired long before time. A coffee would be good.
"Yeah, go on then," he replied, "and then I'll take my shift on the door."
Nic nodded gratefully and headed for the kitchen; he'd been on the door for three hours.
Rod had only just taken up the vacated door-place when somebody knocked. One hand went to the butt of the gun concealed beneath his jacket and he leaned toward the spyhole to see who was outside. The nearness of the face on the other side almost made him jump out of his skin. How had the guy got so close without being heard?
The new arrival took a step back from the door and held up an I.D. card for inspection. Dr. Essex, NovaTeX Pharmaceuticals.
Rod turned the key and opened the door.
"Good evening doctor, you gave me quite the scare there for a second."
"I do apologise," the doctor replied and held his hand out, "Dr. Essex, NovaTeX, but do call me Neil, I find titles so very stuffy don't you?" The man had a clipped, almost perfectly crisp English accent that would have seemed antiquated fifty years ago. Rod shook the offered hand and was surprised at how cold he was. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Then the doctor smiled, "where's the young man I've heard so much about?"
Bobby had twisted in his chair when someone knocked at the door. He watched the remaining guard check the door, then open it.
"Where's the young man I've heard so much about?"
'I'm right here, you can cut the shit,' Bobby thought, only half feeling the annoyance his thoughts conveyed. After days in the hotel, he'd thought everything there was to think, and had all but drained his emotions from him.
But he was not going to let them see that. Though he'd grown quieter, he'd lost none of his sarcastic humor, finding comfort in making fun of the situation. And now, he was going to show nothing but a calm, confident front.
Bobby stood, pushing back his chair, and crossed the room to the man. A doctor, huh? Didn't sound good to Bobby at all. They probably called all of Stryker's goonies that experimented on mutants 'doctors'. Unsure what was in store for himself, Bobby introduced himself.
"I'm Robert. Robert Drake."
Dr. Essex stepped further into the room and turned to look at him with a bright smile that never came close to reaching his eyes. He was a tall man, in his mid-thirties with neat black hair and a well trimmed beard and mustache. Dressed in a long coat and with a small leather bag he looked every inch the doctor making a house call.
"Hello Robert," the doctor said, "I hope these gentlemen have been looking after you, it must be terribly dull in this hotel room."
He looked around at the furnishings and trappings just as Nic emerged with the promised coffee.
"Sorry Doc, wasn't expecting you yet, would you like one?" The guard said, referring to the drink.
"Tea for me please, if you have any, and white, no sugar." He returned his attention to Bobby and looked him over with a critical eye. "Well you certainly look fit and healthy but then I'm sure a young man like you gets lots of exercise yes?"
He removed his coat and hung it neatly over the back of a chair before popping open the bag and pulling out a few things. A little flashlight, a stethoscope and an empty syringe.
Bobby didn't reply for a moment as he watched Essex unload a few things from his bag. He wasn't going to give specifics, but he'd let the man know he was right. Not that it meant anything; even without his powers, he might have been able to take one guard, but he was no match for both together, nor either alone with their guns. He knew he was trapped, and besides, he didn't want to try to escape. It would do no good; it was better to just wait it out. Everything would work itself out eventually.
"Yes," he answered simply--his attention was on the syringe the Doctor had revealed. Bobby was a few good feet from him, and he stayed where he was. He made note of where the guards were--so far, they weren't advancing on him--and spoke seriously. "What are you here for, Doc?"
Dr. Essex approached and set the syringe down on the table before him, "no need to look so worried my boy," he said with another one of his hair-raising smiles, "just a basic medical examination, nothing to worry about at all."
He saw where the boys attention was riveted and nodded in understanding, "just a blood sample," he said by way of explanation, "perfectly harmless, unless you have a fear of needles, but from what I have heard you wouldn't be scared of a small thing like that would you."
The doctor sat down opposite Bobby and took a moment to examine the metal collar around his neck, "I do hope that isn't terribly uncomfortable," he said, "but then they were not really designed with comfort in mind."
Bobby could see that the syringe was empty, and he thought clearly through what could possibly be done with an empty syringe other than take blood. They could give him one of those air bubbles that explode when they reach your heart...But what good would that do them?
He lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve as he watched the Doctor closely, trying to appear as calm as possible. He didn't sit down, even when Doctor Essex did. He acted nice enough, but there was something creepy about the guy's smile, and the tone of his voice. Anyone could act compassionate and smile all they wanted, but some things simply couldn't be faked.
Bobby had put the table between himself and the guards, and the edge of it pressed against his leg as he held out his arm to the Doctor, his knuckles on the tabletop. "Here you are," he said, in a cheery tone that was as fake as Essex's smile.
He paused a long moment, his smile never leaving his face and never reaching his eyes. "Did you know William Stryker, Doctor Essex?"
The doctor picked up the syringe and inserted it effortlessly into a vein. Bright, red blood immediately began to flow into the empty cylinder as the plunger was withdrawn. A few seconds later it was full and Essex withdrew the needle.
"There," he said, "all done." He capped the syringe and put it back on the table.
"William Stryker?" He said, checking the flashlight, "I knew OF him certainly, he did some quite fascinating studies on the human psyche, I never actually met the man though. I have heard he was responsible for some very questionable practises."
Satisfied that the light was in working order he looked back at Bobby.
"I'm going to check your eyes," he said, "please try not to blink, though I do know it can be difficult."
Bobby slid into the chair opposite Doctor Essex, as they'd need to be on the same level to do the eye examination properly. As long as the guards stayed where they were, he'd be fine. He leaned forward, his arms on the table, and stared unblinking as the Doctor shined the light in his eyes.
'Questionable practices' didn't cover the awful things Stryker had done and tried to do, in Bobby's mind. Keeping his head as still as possible, he spoke again. "Stryker tortured people, experimented on them. He kidnapped kids right out of my school."
"So I've been trying to explain to these guys why I'm a little distrusting," he added, jerking a thumb at the nearby guards.
The doctor moved a little closer and flickered the light into first one eye, then the other. The pupils contracted just fine. "Thankyou, now if you would open your mouth please I will check your throat and airway."
He glanced over his shoulder at the guard who was presently bringing him a steaming cup of tea. "I'm sure these gentlemen mean you no harm, though perhaps some ill-will is to be expected given the nature of your situation. I am sure you will all manage to remain civil until the time comes for you to go to trial."
Nic set the cup down on the table and gave a smile that looked a bit like a grimace.
Bobby looked up to Nic, who he'd been disgruntled to see was wearing a Yankees ballcap their first day in the hotel. He returned the smile with cheesy vigor before he turned his head again. "He's just irked 'cause I told him the Red Sox are going to win the series," Bobby said, causing Nic to turn and move back to the door, dropping his smile in a flash.
Bobby opened his mouth obligingly, starting to believe that perhaps this truly was just some kind of check-up. As long as the guy didn't want to probe for hemorrhoids, Bobby was fine complying with the exam.
Dr. Essex peered into the young man's gaping maw and flickered the flashlight around for a few moments. Everything seemed to be in order. In fact things were in slightly better order than most young men his age who insisted on ruining themselves with smoking and drink before they were old enough to vote.
"You take good care of yourself Master Drake," the doctor commented matter-of-factly, "you look to be in very good health."
He switched the light off and put it with the syringe and then put the stethoscope around his neck.
He looked from the guard and back to Bobby again with slightly raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't follow baseball, I have always been more of a fan of cricket. A gentleman's game if ever there was one."
He popped the ear-pieces in and lifted the small metal disc.
"Now, I'm just going to check your heart and lungs and we're all done."
Bobby didn't know what to say to his comment about cricket. He blinked a few times before choosing not to respond. There was no good in pretending to like cricket too, even if he could get through to the Doctor, it wouldn't do him any good. He nodded and waited for the unreadable doctor to check his chest.
Dr. Essex pressed the disc against Bobby's chest and listened intently for a few moments before shifting its position slightly. A few more moments and he nodded to himself and removed the device.
"Well Master Drake, you are a picture of health. They certainly take good care of you at that school, a fact I will be sure to mention in my report." He gave Bobby another one of his joyless smiles, then picked up the cup of tea and took a sip.
Earl Grey would have been better, but then this was America; one could not expect miracles.
Bobby wondered if the Doctor meant more than what he said outrightly about mentioning the school in the report, and what exactly he would say. But he knew Essex would probably not tell him the truth if he asked about the report--or anything else, for that matter--so instead he took the polite route. "They do," he said firmly, as though to extinguish any doubt the Doctor may have had but wasn't expressing. "Thank you, Sir."
Dr. Essex drained the tea cup and set it down on the table.
"Manners too, and I believed the age of chivalry dead, yet here before it sits personified. If you did not stand accused of murder most foul Master Drake I would count you one of the finer examples of the youth of today."
That said he stood and returned the equipment to his little bag, carefully sliding the blood sample into a cooling tube.
"Well young man, I thank you for your time and wish you all the best of luck in the trial ahead. Fates willing you will emerge unscathed from this experience. What was that awful saying?"
He seemed to ponder his self-posed question for a moment.
"Ah yes 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. Chin up."
He extended his hand.
As the Doctor complimented Bobby for his chivalry, Bobby had wondered if maybe he had been too quick to judge the man. But his sentiments toward Dr. Essex did a 180 degree turn with the man's next statement.
The thanks on Bobby's lips was never spoken, and her closed his mouth, his jaw clenching as he struggled to keep his mouth shut and under control. Bobby stood, and shook Essex's hand. "Right now I'm putting my faith in 'innocent until proven guilty'," he said firmly, with much more confidence that he felt. He knew he was innocent; but was there even a way to prove that to the court? There was no way to tell, until they let him out of the damn hotel room and let him see some kind of legal rep.
"You have a good day, Doctor."
The doctor gave him a final, chilling smile before slipping his coat back on and heading for the door. "Thank you for the tea gentlemen," he said to the pair of guards, "you take good care of this young man."
Rod and Nic glanced at each other with a vague sense of unease, "yeah, sure doc, we'll look after him, you have a good night."
Essex nodded, the unsettling smile never leaving his face and then he was out the door. The guards closed it behind him and let out twin sighs of relief for reasons they couldn't identify.
Down the hall outside the doctor that called himself Neil Essex plucked the vial of blood from his bag and examined it as he walked, his face now an expressionless mask.
"I have already had a good day master Drake, a very good day thank you very much."
Then he was heading down the stairs and was gone.
But they watched him anyway.
"You fancy a coffee?" Nicholas asked from his place by the door.
Rod thought about it a moment, the evening was young, but the long day sapped the will and left one tired long before time. A coffee would be good.
"Yeah, go on then," he replied, "and then I'll take my shift on the door."
Nic nodded gratefully and headed for the kitchen; he'd been on the door for three hours.
Rod had only just taken up the vacated door-place when somebody knocked. One hand went to the butt of the gun concealed beneath his jacket and he leaned toward the spyhole to see who was outside. The nearness of the face on the other side almost made him jump out of his skin. How had the guy got so close without being heard?
The new arrival took a step back from the door and held up an I.D. card for inspection. Dr. Essex, NovaTeX Pharmaceuticals.
Rod turned the key and opened the door.
"Good evening doctor, you gave me quite the scare there for a second."
"I do apologise," the doctor replied and held his hand out, "Dr. Essex, NovaTeX, but do call me Neil, I find titles so very stuffy don't you?" The man had a clipped, almost perfectly crisp English accent that would have seemed antiquated fifty years ago. Rod shook the offered hand and was surprised at how cold he was. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Then the doctor smiled, "where's the young man I've heard so much about?"
Bobby had twisted in his chair when someone knocked at the door. He watched the remaining guard check the door, then open it.
"Where's the young man I've heard so much about?"
'I'm right here, you can cut the shit,' Bobby thought, only half feeling the annoyance his thoughts conveyed. After days in the hotel, he'd thought everything there was to think, and had all but drained his emotions from him.
But he was not going to let them see that. Though he'd grown quieter, he'd lost none of his sarcastic humor, finding comfort in making fun of the situation. And now, he was going to show nothing but a calm, confident front.
Bobby stood, pushing back his chair, and crossed the room to the man. A doctor, huh? Didn't sound good to Bobby at all. They probably called all of Stryker's goonies that experimented on mutants 'doctors'. Unsure what was in store for himself, Bobby introduced himself.
"I'm Robert. Robert Drake."
Dr. Essex stepped further into the room and turned to look at him with a bright smile that never came close to reaching his eyes. He was a tall man, in his mid-thirties with neat black hair and a well trimmed beard and mustache. Dressed in a long coat and with a small leather bag he looked every inch the doctor making a house call.
"Hello Robert," the doctor said, "I hope these gentlemen have been looking after you, it must be terribly dull in this hotel room."
He looked around at the furnishings and trappings just as Nic emerged with the promised coffee.
"Sorry Doc, wasn't expecting you yet, would you like one?" The guard said, referring to the drink.
"Tea for me please, if you have any, and white, no sugar." He returned his attention to Bobby and looked him over with a critical eye. "Well you certainly look fit and healthy but then I'm sure a young man like you gets lots of exercise yes?"
He removed his coat and hung it neatly over the back of a chair before popping open the bag and pulling out a few things. A little flashlight, a stethoscope and an empty syringe.
Bobby didn't reply for a moment as he watched Essex unload a few things from his bag. He wasn't going to give specifics, but he'd let the man know he was right. Not that it meant anything; even without his powers, he might have been able to take one guard, but he was no match for both together, nor either alone with their guns. He knew he was trapped, and besides, he didn't want to try to escape. It would do no good; it was better to just wait it out. Everything would work itself out eventually.
"Yes," he answered simply--his attention was on the syringe the Doctor had revealed. Bobby was a few good feet from him, and he stayed where he was. He made note of where the guards were--so far, they weren't advancing on him--and spoke seriously. "What are you here for, Doc?"
Dr. Essex approached and set the syringe down on the table before him, "no need to look so worried my boy," he said with another one of his hair-raising smiles, "just a basic medical examination, nothing to worry about at all."
He saw where the boys attention was riveted and nodded in understanding, "just a blood sample," he said by way of explanation, "perfectly harmless, unless you have a fear of needles, but from what I have heard you wouldn't be scared of a small thing like that would you."
The doctor sat down opposite Bobby and took a moment to examine the metal collar around his neck, "I do hope that isn't terribly uncomfortable," he said, "but then they were not really designed with comfort in mind."
Bobby could see that the syringe was empty, and he thought clearly through what could possibly be done with an empty syringe other than take blood. They could give him one of those air bubbles that explode when they reach your heart...But what good would that do them?
He lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve as he watched the Doctor closely, trying to appear as calm as possible. He didn't sit down, even when Doctor Essex did. He acted nice enough, but there was something creepy about the guy's smile, and the tone of his voice. Anyone could act compassionate and smile all they wanted, but some things simply couldn't be faked.
Bobby had put the table between himself and the guards, and the edge of it pressed against his leg as he held out his arm to the Doctor, his knuckles on the tabletop. "Here you are," he said, in a cheery tone that was as fake as Essex's smile.
He paused a long moment, his smile never leaving his face and never reaching his eyes. "Did you know William Stryker, Doctor Essex?"
The doctor picked up the syringe and inserted it effortlessly into a vein. Bright, red blood immediately began to flow into the empty cylinder as the plunger was withdrawn. A few seconds later it was full and Essex withdrew the needle.
"There," he said, "all done." He capped the syringe and put it back on the table.
"William Stryker?" He said, checking the flashlight, "I knew OF him certainly, he did some quite fascinating studies on the human psyche, I never actually met the man though. I have heard he was responsible for some very questionable practises."
Satisfied that the light was in working order he looked back at Bobby.
"I'm going to check your eyes," he said, "please try not to blink, though I do know it can be difficult."
Bobby slid into the chair opposite Doctor Essex, as they'd need to be on the same level to do the eye examination properly. As long as the guards stayed where they were, he'd be fine. He leaned forward, his arms on the table, and stared unblinking as the Doctor shined the light in his eyes.
'Questionable practices' didn't cover the awful things Stryker had done and tried to do, in Bobby's mind. Keeping his head as still as possible, he spoke again. "Stryker tortured people, experimented on them. He kidnapped kids right out of my school."
"So I've been trying to explain to these guys why I'm a little distrusting," he added, jerking a thumb at the nearby guards.
The doctor moved a little closer and flickered the light into first one eye, then the other. The pupils contracted just fine. "Thankyou, now if you would open your mouth please I will check your throat and airway."
He glanced over his shoulder at the guard who was presently bringing him a steaming cup of tea. "I'm sure these gentlemen mean you no harm, though perhaps some ill-will is to be expected given the nature of your situation. I am sure you will all manage to remain civil until the time comes for you to go to trial."
Nic set the cup down on the table and gave a smile that looked a bit like a grimace.
Bobby looked up to Nic, who he'd been disgruntled to see was wearing a Yankees ballcap their first day in the hotel. He returned the smile with cheesy vigor before he turned his head again. "He's just irked 'cause I told him the Red Sox are going to win the series," Bobby said, causing Nic to turn and move back to the door, dropping his smile in a flash.
Bobby opened his mouth obligingly, starting to believe that perhaps this truly was just some kind of check-up. As long as the guy didn't want to probe for hemorrhoids, Bobby was fine complying with the exam.
Dr. Essex peered into the young man's gaping maw and flickered the flashlight around for a few moments. Everything seemed to be in order. In fact things were in slightly better order than most young men his age who insisted on ruining themselves with smoking and drink before they were old enough to vote.
"You take good care of yourself Master Drake," the doctor commented matter-of-factly, "you look to be in very good health."
He switched the light off and put it with the syringe and then put the stethoscope around his neck.
He looked from the guard and back to Bobby again with slightly raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't follow baseball, I have always been more of a fan of cricket. A gentleman's game if ever there was one."
He popped the ear-pieces in and lifted the small metal disc.
"Now, I'm just going to check your heart and lungs and we're all done."
Bobby didn't know what to say to his comment about cricket. He blinked a few times before choosing not to respond. There was no good in pretending to like cricket too, even if he could get through to the Doctor, it wouldn't do him any good. He nodded and waited for the unreadable doctor to check his chest.
Dr. Essex pressed the disc against Bobby's chest and listened intently for a few moments before shifting its position slightly. A few more moments and he nodded to himself and removed the device.
"Well Master Drake, you are a picture of health. They certainly take good care of you at that school, a fact I will be sure to mention in my report." He gave Bobby another one of his joyless smiles, then picked up the cup of tea and took a sip.
Earl Grey would have been better, but then this was America; one could not expect miracles.
Bobby wondered if the Doctor meant more than what he said outrightly about mentioning the school in the report, and what exactly he would say. But he knew Essex would probably not tell him the truth if he asked about the report--or anything else, for that matter--so instead he took the polite route. "They do," he said firmly, as though to extinguish any doubt the Doctor may have had but wasn't expressing. "Thank you, Sir."
Dr. Essex drained the tea cup and set it down on the table.
"Manners too, and I believed the age of chivalry dead, yet here before it sits personified. If you did not stand accused of murder most foul Master Drake I would count you one of the finer examples of the youth of today."
That said he stood and returned the equipment to his little bag, carefully sliding the blood sample into a cooling tube.
"Well young man, I thank you for your time and wish you all the best of luck in the trial ahead. Fates willing you will emerge unscathed from this experience. What was that awful saying?"
He seemed to ponder his self-posed question for a moment.
"Ah yes 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. Chin up."
He extended his hand.
As the Doctor complimented Bobby for his chivalry, Bobby had wondered if maybe he had been too quick to judge the man. But his sentiments toward Dr. Essex did a 180 degree turn with the man's next statement.
The thanks on Bobby's lips was never spoken, and her closed his mouth, his jaw clenching as he struggled to keep his mouth shut and under control. Bobby stood, and shook Essex's hand. "Right now I'm putting my faith in 'innocent until proven guilty'," he said firmly, with much more confidence that he felt. He knew he was innocent; but was there even a way to prove that to the court? There was no way to tell, until they let him out of the damn hotel room and let him see some kind of legal rep.
"You have a good day, Doctor."
The doctor gave him a final, chilling smile before slipping his coat back on and heading for the door. "Thank you for the tea gentlemen," he said to the pair of guards, "you take good care of this young man."
Rod and Nic glanced at each other with a vague sense of unease, "yeah, sure doc, we'll look after him, you have a good night."
Essex nodded, the unsettling smile never leaving his face and then he was out the door. The guards closed it behind him and let out twin sighs of relief for reasons they couldn't identify.
Down the hall outside the doctor that called himself Neil Essex plucked the vial of blood from his bag and examined it as he walked, his face now an expressionless mask.
"I have already had a good day master Drake, a very good day thank you very much."
Then he was heading down the stairs and was gone.
